Security Camera
by OnceTwiceTimeThing
Summary: Against his better judgment, Smithers neglects to report on a violation of the plant's conduct codes for personal reasons. Lenny/Carl and oneshot Smithers/Burns. Pure fluff.


**The shipping bug bites again. What it is about this show that drives me to drabble over any other program, book, movie, or play. Freud is probably the only person who could satisfactorily answer that question, but he's dead. So here we are.**

The monitors on the wall glowed dimly and hummed in unison like a grouping of sedate, mechanical cicadas. On every screen, a different picture was displayed. There must have been hundreds of them mounted up thereon the wall, each baring images of droning workers or else vacant corridors. On slow afternoons when his duties were less numerous, Waylon Smithers took a few moments to give the security footage a good once-over, meticulously scanning for anything that might be amiss. He often detected moderate violations of the safety code and shoddy workmanship, but in that moment, he failed to note anything that seemed particularly punishable. He produced a small, satisfied sound at that, drumming his well-manicured fingertips on the clipboard in his hands. Very rarely did a day go by that didn't end with the filing of several disciplinary reports.

Once again, his eyes skimmed the wide wall of tv sets, jumping from scene to uneventful scene without a hitch- that is, until his gaze fixed on footage of the elevator in the pant's Eastern wing. Smithers barely stifled his gasp, only managing to do so by grunting out of disgust instead. There, standing by themselves in the great metal vessel, were two of the plant's many nuclear physicists apparently in lip-lock.

"Uhg! The elevator is a mode of transportation, not a passion pit..." He muttered to himself, recovering from his startling discovery. Of the many rules that were broken on a regular basis, this was not one of them. Burns's assistant adjusted his glasses and squinted into the monitor's light, hoping to identify the responsible parties. Though it was all in the name of workplace etiquette, he still felt very uncomfortable doing so, like some sort of crude voyeurist instead of a principled executive. After a brief moment, he recognized both of them as two of the plodding workhorses from Sector 7-G. His mouth became a grim line, and he stood up straight again, making a note of their last names down on his clipboard. 'So much for an incident-free afternoon,' he thought dryly. He resented the fact that he would yet again be forced to present his boss with bad news. As this thought crossed his mind, however, another much more alarming notion flickered to life.

'Those are two _men_ in there. Is Mr. Burns even familiar with the concept of... homosexual relations?' Smithers bit his lower lip in neurotic apprehension. Surely he had to be. He was extremely old, but he wasn't daft. He must know something...

But even if he did, his opinions on the matter were more than likely on the... antiquated side. His reaction to this such incident would be much stronger than a younger man's, and as such, the subsequent punishment he'd choose would be notably more severe than necessary. Still, was this any reason to forgive such flagrant disregard for office policy? Waylon's mind skipped to his personal life: worst case scenario, Mr. Burns could turn this isolated incident into cause for a full-blown witch hunt, which would put Smithers's career in dire jeopardy. This notion might have been paranoid, but he'd had enough close calls of being nearly outed already, the very last thing he needed was another one. Besides, if his boss caught wind of his preferences, he might get wise to the secret he was barely keeping at the best of times. His affections for Mr. Burns weren't exactly commonly known, but they weren't well-obscured either. Keeping them under wraps was surely a more important cause than punishing a couple of deviant ne'er-do-wells. Smithers rolled his eyes and snorted. "Brutes." Maybe he wouldn't file a report, but he'd be damned if he didn't give them demerits or overtime or something of that nature. With his sense of outrage restored, he turned his bespectacled eyes back to the TV set, only to have it deflate instantly. The scene wasn't quite so tawdry as he'd originally assessed it to be. The kiss had ended, but the pair seemed just as content to knock their foreheads together and embrace. The taller of the two of them (Carlson, according to the clipboard) was even running his hand through his colleague's hair.

Waylon's frown grew more pronounced, and he felt a familiar thudding pang of empathy. Normally he was strict, very much "by the book," but he was weak to emotional persuasion. He began to worry that he was getting too sentimental for his own good. He also began to worry that the elevator might be jammed. How long had they been in there? Now much more worried and conflicted than indignant, Mr. Smithers pressed a button and took camera 47 offline, letting the monitor blacken. For a number of reasons- most of them personal- the executive violated the beloved rule book by which he normally set his ethical compass. If the elevator was stuck, it's passengers would call for help when ready. Their disregard for office rules would go unreported this time, although Smithers made a mental note to keep a particularly close eye on Sector 7-G.


End file.
